


In Love with America's Most Wanted

by YahtzeeBitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Based on Song, F/M, Falling In Love, Girl Saves Boy, Heartbreak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5089268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YahtzeeBitch/pseuds/YahtzeeBitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never really fit in, not really anyways. But when she met him, she felt like she belonged somewhere. It didn't matter that he was years older, that he wasn't around all the time, that he was on the top of the FBI's most wanted list. He was perfect to her. Dean/OC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Outcasts

**Author's Note:**

> This story is one I wrote a while back and posted elsewhere. Thought I'd share it to and edit it a bit more. Hope you like it!

Stillwater, Montana.

A small town set on a big piece of land. Mostly home to trees, elk, and bison. The population of the town numbers out to around nine hundred people. All the homes spread out of long stretches of roads, most of which are in need of repair. There's the main part of town, which is where the plaza is located, different shops of all kinds set up around an open wood-board floored area to attract the tourists who wander over from Yellowstone National Park. Most everyone lives between ten to twenty minutes from there, although some families live even further.

It's simple to tell apart those who are residents to those who are just passing through. There isn't anything glaringly different about the residents of the town, per say, just an air about them. They're proud of their small town, and everybody knows everybody.

That doesn't mean that everybody gets along with everybody though. It's not the perfect 'American small town'. Some families hold grudges against others, the women have their natural gossip, and kids get bullied at school.

It's easy to gossip in a town in which there is only one main supermarket. Only one main church too. Seemingly cut off from the rest of the country due to their geographical location, the women spread news (both true and false) like the wildfires that threaten their homes in the summer months.

The Bradshaws call this small town home though. Have been for the last thirty years.

Leroy Jepson Bradshaw, the head of the family and married to Abigail Donner for the past twenty-three years. He's a well known, well respected face around town; always offering a helping hand or a kind word. He raises his children under a tight belt, making sure they know right from wrong.

His six-foot broad frame makes his presence known in a room. Black hair, graying on the ends, is kept cut short. A humble and easy going man, he runs the General Store in town, selling miscellaneous objects, ranging from simple groceries, to diapers, to batteries, to gun powder.

Abigail runs the books for the store, keeping on top of finances and taxes. Calculating product and revenue, managing sales and helping decide which items are no longer in demand.

Together they've spent their lives providing for their three children.

Derek is the eldest of the three. Twenty-two years old, he gets his looks from his father. Tall, dark haired, and as charismatic as John F. Kennedy, Derek Bradshaw has had a fascination with planes since before he could even walk. He was a popular kid in school, playing safety on the high school football team, as well as being elected his class's vice principal. When it was time for college, the Air Force Academy was the only place he wanted to go. Three years later, and he's as happy as can be. His one downside; his short temper and overly colorful language.

The middle child, Jackie, is only three years younger than Derek. The pretty child in the family, she stands only five foot six. Long wavy blonde hair genetically inherited from her mother, green eyes from her father. Jackie focuses more on her studies than she does the boys asking her out on dates. Not that she needs to put in so much focus; she gets straight A's without much effort. At nineteen years old and a senior in high school, she was committed to attend Montana State University next fall.

Finally, Marah, the baby of the family, the child who wasn't planned for. Her parents love her still, just as much as they do Derek and Jackie, she was just a surprise. A mix of both her siblings before her, though completely different in almost every way. Long auburn hair falls in waves, light hazel eyes always calculating what's around her. From the outside, she looks like a shy, quiet, polite girl at only seventeen years old. Manners drilled into her from day one, she's just starting to become her own person, questioning what her parents tell her, she never swears at them, or disrespected them. However, once she's with just her friends, she let's herself, her true self, be seen. She has a temper, a mouth like a sailor (her language even rivaling Derek's), and a 'take-no-shit' attitude. She has friends at school, though only a select few are close to her, those who don't talk to her regularly just think she's quiet and shy. They don't hear the opinion she has on everything.

Right now, the youngest of the Bradshaws stands behind the counter of Stillwater's local café. Unlike most businesses in town, Angela's Café is open Sunday mornings, albeit empty right now, given the ten o'clock Church service is in session. Marah tugs once at the apron she's required to have on, hating the white piece of fabric with a passion, while she wipes down countertop at the front bar.

The café is mostly empty for now, the only employees inside besides Marah herself being Betsy, a single mother who's lived in town for only the past few years, Marah thinks she must be in her mid-thirties, and Evelyn, a red-head who's a year older than Marah. They see each other often, go to the same high school, but never really talk outside of the café. The café's cook, Danny, sits atop the counter in the kitchen, his legs swinging back and forth, waiting for the orders to start coming in.

There are only a few patrons already present.

Old man Prichett sits in his usual booth by the window, watching the tourists walk down the sidewalk as he sips at his coffee (always ordered black, then he later asks for two sugar packets). He's laid out the newspaper in front of himself on the table, though his eyesight has been fading, and Marah knows he can't read a single word on the thing.

Hally Burns, or Hal as she tells everyone to call her by, sits in her usual seat as well, her weathered hands struggling to hold the menu steady. The seventy-year-old woman has lived in Stillwater all her life, meeting her husband here, who is now buried in the town cemetery after a heart attack two summers ago struck him suddenly.

Finally, the Ingrid twins. One of the few families in Stillwater who doesn't attend Sunday service, so the boys always show up in the mornings to grab some breakfast and study for whatever assignments they've put off completing all weekend. Jake and Nate Ingrid are only sophomores at the high school, but with their older sister having gone off to Princeton last fall; they've got a lot of pressure on them.

Everyone else in town is in Church, including the rest of Marah's family. She knew she'd be working this morning, so she had been told to attend Saturday night service. She'd protested for a good fifteen minutes, but had listened to her parents in the end, dragging her feet out the front door.

She looks up as the front door of the café opens, the bell jingling, sounding the entrance of the newest customer. Marah glances around, seeing both Betsy and Evelyn in the back talking to Danny about something or other. She lets a breath out through her nose, turning and tossing the rag into the sink before wiping her hands on the apron she wears.

She walks towards the café's newest visitor, who's listened to the sign at the front of the building and helped himself to an open booth. She can tell he's younger just by his side profile as she makes her way over, his blonde hair standing out in the sunlight that filters in through the windows. His hands are clasped together on top of the linoleum table, his jaw set. He wears a leather jacket and dark jeans, she doesn't recognize him, so he's not from around town.

"Good morning." Her voice is quiet, though polite, and it catches his attention. He looks up at her, and she immediately thinks of how pretty he is. Not pretty in the delicate sense of the word, but rough.

He has defined features, a strong jaw line, tan skin, blonde hair that's styled up in the front, and piercing green eyes. She also thinks, he looks as though something's bothering him, she can tell by the way he looks at her, but doesn't fully _look_ at her. "Can I get you anything?" she offers, and he's struck with how sincere her words are, not sounding like she's saying them just because she's his waitress.

"Uh, coffee, black." His voice is gruff, more so than she expected, but she just smiles back at him.

"Sure thing." He nods his thanks, watching her turn and walk back to the kitchen area, before taking a deep breath and glancing out the window.

He closes his eyes briefly, taking another deep breathe, and can hear his father and younger brother shouting at each other again. He wonders, fleetingly, if Sammy had stormed out yet.

It had started over that damn college crap Sam was so obsessed with lately. Bringing it up once again, telling his dad now that he had applied to Stanford, of all places. Of course, John had gone off on how Sam couldn't go, John wouldn't _let_ him go.

Dean understood where Sam was coming from. The kid wanted a normal life; they had grown up in motel rooms, eating greasy diner food and gas station hot dogs all their lives. Sam wasn't like Dean, wasn't as loyal to their father. That part, Dean couldn't wrap his head around. He didn't-

His thoughts are stopped when a cup of black coffee appears in front of him, he looks up again, seeing the same young girl standing there, a soft smile on her face. "Thank you." Dean tells her.

"Do you need anything else?" She asks, and Dean thinks for a moment. He almost says no, that he's all set. His lips purse together, and her gaze darts down to them for a moment before going back to his face.

"Do you mind sitting down for awhile?" Dean asks her, "I just'd like to talk to someone." Her eyebrows come together, lips pursing together, and it's then that Dean notices just how young she is. She can't be older than seventeen. "If, if you can't, then," He realizes how it's weird for a twenty-two year old to ask a seventeen year old if he can just talk to her.

"No!" she cuts him off quickly, then stammers as his blonde eyebrows rise at her, "T-that'd be fine, it's just, give me a moment, I know somewhere else we could go." Her brown eyes are shining, and Dean smiles at her. "I'll be right back." She promises him, before turning and walking quickly back to where he assumes the kitchen to be.

"I'm taking my break!" Marah calls out to the other three as she unties her apron, tossing it on a nearby chair.

"What!" Betsy barks at her, "The rush will be here in twenty minutes Marah!"

"I'm sure you can handle it, I'll be back, promise!" She's out of the kitchen before they can say anything more.

She sees the man waiting for her, and smiles when his eyes find hers. "Okay," she tells him, he stands up, pulling his leather jacket on closer to his body. It isn't until she's right next to him that Marah notices how tall he is. She only comes up to his shoulders.

She leads them out, the bell ringing and Hal's eyes watching. Dean's footfalls are heavy and loud against the concrete sidewalk, due to the military boots that dawn his feet. Marah's footfalls are light, and she takes almost two steps for each of his one. "So," She starts, and his green eyes look down at her, "What's your name again?" she phrases it as if he's told her already.

"Dean," he says, his voice gruff, and he stops when she puts a hand on his arm.

"We're crossing here," She tells him, nodding towards the street, "and I'm Marah." Dean just nods, and then proceeds to follow her across the street, and down the side of another road. Five minutes later, they come to an open area overlooking one of the rivers. "I like coming here sometimes," she tells Dean, feeling as though she should say something as she sits down in front of the bench, leaning back against it, Dean follows suit.

"It's nice." He agrees, looking out over the water. He's silent for a moment, and she doesn't say anything either. After another beat of silence, she speaks up.

"What's bothering you?" she asks him, and when Dean looks down at her, she looks away, heat rushing up her neck.

"It's my dad, and brother. They uh, don't get along too well." He's awkward with sharing, but it feels better talking about it.

She nods for him to continue.

"Yeah. Ya see, Sam, he's my brother, he wants to go to college real bad. Our Dad keeps telling him no."

"Why?"

"He'd be safer if he stayed with us. Our dad's real protective over us both, me over Sam too. We grew up, travelin' on the road a lot due to our dad's job. I get Sam wants to settle down somewhere, be a normal kid. It's just…" he trails off.

"You're dad wants him close so he can watch out for him." Marah says, and Dean makes a noise of agreement. "Well, it sounds like something that your dad and brother should figure out themselves." Dean looks at her eyes narrowed, "But I get why your in it too, though, I think you should trust Sam."

"I already trust'em."

"Then you should know he can look out for himself." For the next twenty minutes, Dean tells Marah (sparing the exact, gruesome, bloody details) most of what's going on between his dad and Sam. She listens intently, nodding along and offering her own opinion once and a while. She learns how they grew up on the road, motel to motel, and when she asks what they do for a living, he simply tells her:

"We save people."

And she accepts that. The more they talk, the more comfortable they grow with one another. She grows less awkward, he relaxes more.

"You know Dean," she tells him, "When I was eight, my teacher asked all of us what we wanted for Christmas. And I said my Pop-Pop, my grandfather, because he had died that year, and I missed him. I didn't get him back for Christmas, since you can't bring the dead back to life. But I learned that you should enjoy every moment you have with a person, since you don't know when they'll be gone. You should try to make them happy. If going to college will make Sam happy, then I'd let him go." Dean nods thoughtfully, and then pulls out his cell phone as it starts ringing.

"It's my Dad," he tells her, "I have to get back."

"Okay." Marah pushes herself off the ground, brushing the dirt off her jeans before offering a hand to Dean to help him up.

"I think I'm supposed to help you up." He tells her, as she helps him get off the ground.

"You were slow." She smirks up at him as he shakes his head, running a hand through his blonde hair.

"I bet you have a boyfriend or something, and I know I'm a bit older than you and I don't really give a rat's ass. So, could I call you sometimes? Or text, just to have someone to talk to besides my dad and Sam." In response, she holds out her hand for his phone, Dean gives it to her, watching as she programs her number into the device; after she gives it back, she hesitates. She's not one for hugs, always being the one who stands stock still if a random person gives her one, but if any situation ever called for one, Marah thinks this would be it. She wraps her arms around Dean, not successfully, only managing around his sides, and her ear rests against his sternum for a few moments.

He stands still for a moment, not really comfortable, before wrapping his arms around her as well. "You could write a letter." She jokes to him.

"You just watch for pigeons flying to your window."

That night, while Marah sits across from Jackie at the dinner table, she sends glances to her phone all throughout the meal. It sits a few feet away, on the coffee table in front of the couch. No cell phones allowed at the dinner table. Ever.

"You waiting to hear from someone?" Her mother asks. Abigail's hair is still pulled back since she put it that morning for church.

"Taylor's supposed to tell me what the algebra homework was." Marah lies, feeling like telling her parents that she's waiting to hear from a twenty-two year old guy she had an hour conversation with this morning.

"You didn't write it down in class?" her father asks from his spot on her left.

"I forgot." Marah says, looking down at the peas on her plate.

"You should've written it down." Her mom stresses.

"Can't I forgot some things?!" her voice rises, and a look from her father makes her shut her mouth. "Sorry."

A second later, she hears the sound of her phone vibrate on the table. "May I be excused?" she asks in a hurry, eyes pleading.

"Yes." Her father tells her, and Marah is out of her seat in a second, rinsing off her plate and placing it in the sink before rushing over. She grabs her phone and takes the stairs two at a time up to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.


	2. Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song inspiration: These Times They Are A Changing by Bob Dylan

Three months later, and their conversations were still frequent.

Marah looked forward to Dean's texts, even more so to his phone calls. There wasn't a set schedule to when they'd talk, it revolved around when Dean had the time. She was fine with that, each word was a pleasant surprise for her.

They talked about everything. He'd tell her about Sam, about his dad, where in the country they were at the time, the people they met. She'd tell him about her family, about school, about her friends. She sent him pictures, so he could put a face with a name.

Her family noticed the difference in her. How she stayed up later, how she left the room more often to go talk on the phone, how, after those secret phone calls, the smile didn't seem to ever waver from her face. But if they asked who she was talking to, she'd say one of her friends from school, rambling off some excuse of not writing down her homework again.

The only one who knew she kept in contact with Dean was Evelyn. Marah had been cornered after she'd returned to work that day she met Dean.

"Who was that?!" the older girl had asked, "and don't say you don't know, I saw you leave with him." So Marah had told her, not Dean's story, just that he was a guy who needed someone to talk to.

Evelyn knew they were still talking, and would even ask how he was once and a while.

"Just don't go falling in love with a stranger." She'd tease.

But he wasn't a stranger, he didn't feel like one to Marah. She trusted him, cared about him, even though they'd only met once. Either there was just something about him, or she was just plain stupid.

Marah's eyes opened suddenly now, mind recognizing the loud ringtone as her hand flailed a moment later. Her phone was ringing on her nightstand, the screen illuminated.

She groaned, rubbing her eyes with a fist as she managed to get a hand on the device, looking down at the front screen.

'Dean' the name starred back at her and she flipped her phone open.

"Hey." She said mumbled, her voice still sounding asleep, and slightly pissed off.

" _Shit! Did I wake you up? I'm sorry, I didn't-"_

"Dean." She cuts him off, laughing slightly, "It's fine."

" _No, no, go back to sleep, I just-"_

"Dean." She cuts him off again, saying his name firmly this time, trying to sound more awake as she lay down on her side, keeping her phone pressed to her ear. "I want to talk to you." She tells him.

" _You sure?"_

"'Course I'm sure." She smiles, though he can't see.

" _Okay._ " His now familiar gruff voice relents, _"I'm gunna feel bad though._ "

"Don't. What's up with you?"

" _Not much. My dad just went out on his own to work a job, so it's just Sammy and I."_ She wonders again, not for the first time, what exactly these 'jobs' are. She doesn't ask though, knowing there must be a reason Dean doesn't tell her.

"Sam's there?" she asks, Dean usually calls when he's alone.

" _Yeah._ "

"Who's he think your talkin' to?" she asks.

" _He's asleep."_

"Ahh. That explains it."

" _I do have a reason for calling"_ he says, _"besides being able to hear the sound of your voice."_ She blushes in the darkness, _"You're blushing."_ He states smugly, and she barks out a laugh.

"You can't see me!"

" _But I know you are._ "

"Asshole." She rolls her eyes.

" _Come on, I think you'll like what I have to say._ "

"You sure about that?" she questions.

" _Pretty sure, like who wouldn't want to see my pretty face?"_ his tone is teasing, so it takes a moment for her to process.

"What!?" She exclaims, sitting up in her bed and then clamping a hand over her own mouth. "What!?" she whispers again, though she's sure Dean doesn't hear over his own laughter.

" _You heard me, my dad said we'll be heading to Washington once he finishes up his gig. Means we're headed straight by ya."_

"How long can you stay?" she asks hopefully, "When will you be here? Where-"

" _Whoa."_ Dean stops her ramblings, " _It'll just be overnight, and I think next Friday if everything goes smooth. And we'll be stayin' in a motel in town-"_

"Gits?"

" _I don't freakin' know, probably. I'll tell you when I know."_

"Good." She tells him, "I miss you." The words are out of her mouth before she thinks them over, "I, I mean it'll be nice, different to-"

" _Marah,"_ Dean says gently. She face palms herself, heat rising on the back of her neck. " _I miss you too."_ His words surprise her, " _Stop blushing._ "

"Shut. Up. Dean." He laughs at her expense again, running a hand through his blonde hair.

" _Just saying."_ There's a pause, neither of them saying anything. _"How was that, uh, dance thing?"_ she chuckles at his awkwardness in bringing up the subject. She had told him about it a few weeks ago when they talked on the phone.

It had been the school's winter semi-formal. And somehow, she ended up telling Dean about it. "It was fun, Cole's parents were outta town that night so we all went here after."

" _Get drunk?"_

"Obviously."

" _You go with anyone?"_

"Tyrell Migalow." She tells him, feeling awkward talking to Dean about it, "My boyfriend."

" _Right. He was good to you?"_

"Yes, Dean. We had a good time."

" _You don't take any shit from him, got it? I'll kick his ass."_

"Sure you would." She rolls her eyes.

" _I'm not kidding._ "

"I know." She assures him, noticing his voice growing harder. "I can take care of myself Dean."

" _I know."_ He repeats her words back. " _Just gotta put the offer out there._ "

"You offered to beat up my boyfriend."

" _Exactly."_

"I think that's unnecessary."

" _For now."_

"You sound like Derek, I hope you know that."

" _How would I? I've never met'im_."

"Well now you do." Marah, stifles a yawn.

" _You should get back to sleep._ " Dean tells her, hearing the yawn on the other end.

"No, I wanna keep talkin'."

" _I can text you in the morning._ " He tells her.

"Not the same as talking."

" _I know, it's the best I got right now though._ "

"Dean it's fine. I just like hearing your voice."

" _Same here_." Her eyebrows draw together, her eyelids growing heavy again, her mind being lulled by the gruffness of his voice. _"Your voice, I like hearing yours. Mine too actually, it's pretty damn sexy_."

"Shut up, egotistical bastard."

" _Why'm I a bastard now? And it's just pointing out facts. Who wouldn't wanna tap this?"_ She shakes her head in disbelief. At first, she was slightly uncomfortable with his ego and crass humor, how open he was about sex, but she's grown used to it now.

It's just how Dean is. He's a womanizer, she's figured it out, though he's never said it outright.

" _I can hear you laughing_." He quiets down, and Marah yawns again. " _Okay, now we really gotta hang up."_

"Dean-"

" _Marah-"_ he imitates her voice, though making it very high pitched and whiny.

"I don't sound like that." She laughs.

" _Go to sleep."_ Dean tells her. _"I'll call you again before next Friday."_

"Promise?" She asks.

" _Promise."_ His voice is sincere, and she believes him right away. _"Night."_

"Good night." She says back, "Be careful."

* * *

Marah's head rested on the window of the car on the way to school the next morning, or, later that morning. Jackie sat in the passenger, sending her little sister glances every so often. Finally, she pulled the car over.

"Hey, uh, school's a little bit further." Marah pointed out, lifting her head up.

"Who's Dean." It wasn't a question, more of a 'you're going to tell me now' sort of statement. Marah decided to play dumb regardless.

"What?"

"Oh come on, Marah!" Jackie raised her voice slightly, her eyes narrowing, "Our rooms are right next to each other. I could hear you talking last night." Marah opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off, "Don't say you don't know. Is he who you've been talking to all the time for the past few months? Do you even know who he is? Cause there's no one named Dean at our school, so he's not from around here, do you-"

"Just freaking shut up Jackie!" Marah snapped, thinking almost instantly how she sounded a bit like Dean. "He's a friend okay? Just don't tell Mom or Dad, _please_." Marah didn't beg often, but now she was.

"Why? What's wrong with him? And what about Tyrell?"

"Nothings _wrong_ with him!" Marah snapped, growing defensive. "And we're just friends. He's twenty-two."

"Marah!" Jackie gasped, "That's-that's illegal!"

"We're not fucking! I've met the guy once-"

"You've met him _once_!?"

"Yeah!" Her voice was rising now too, a weight settling onto her chest as her anger rose. "He's a good guy, he just wanted someone to fucking talk to!"

"Why you then? Huh, why'd he pick a seventeen year old girl!?"

"I don't know! He was at the café, said he could use someone to talk to then! I helped him out!" she yelled, running a hand through her hair. "His job is stressful or something, he's on the road a lot with his family and his dad and brother haven't been getting along."

"What job does he have?" Jackie asks her, her eyes still wide in disbelief at what she was hearing. She thought her little sister was just talking to some other guy from a few towns over, but after hearing the conversation last night, she had to make sure.

"I don't know, he doesn't tell me. He saves people though."

"He could be a freaking lunatic! Maybe his family just is wanted by the law and they get by on credit card scams and fake ID's!" Marah scoffs aloud.

" _Come on_ Jackie! He's not crazy, he's a good person! And his family doesn't do anything illegal!"

"How would you know? He doesn't tell you anything!"

"I just _know_ okay!?" Marah's voice rackets off the inside of their Honda Civic. Jackie glares back at her, lips pursed together and her eyes narrowed. Marah takes a deep breath, squeezing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "I know what I'm doing, just don't tell Mom and Dad. If he starts sounding like some psycho killer, I'll stop talking to him, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise." Marah rolls her eyes, "Can we please go to school now?" In response, Jackie puts the Sedan back in drive, pulling away from the curb.

* * *

She waited by the bench where they had first talked four months ago. Her legs crossed, leaning back against the cold wood and looking out over the snow-covered landscape. By now, the river was frozen, it had been for the past few weeks, since before Christmas.

Marah let out a breath, watching it come out of her mouth before it disappeared into the cold air. She glanced down at her phone again, seeing the text she had sent two hours ago.

'You still coming?'

She hadn't gotten a reply back yet. She hadn't heard anything from Dean in the past two days, she still hoped though. And she was worried, she always was worried about him though. Last they talked, four nights ago, Dean had gotten into a fight with Sam. About how Sam said he was growing up, and he didn't need Dean to look out for him anymore.

But that was Dean's job. He said it himself to her. Look out for Sammy, it's what he did. Marah didn't get how Sam could be so blind as to not see that Dean couldn't just turn his protectiveness on and off.

She shivered slightly, pulling the leather air force jacket on tighter around her body. It had been Derek's from when he first enlisted, though once he grew out of it, he had to get a new one, and Marah got it. She smiled softly to herself, wondering what her brother was up to at that moment.

He hadn't gotten leave in over six months. Christmas hadn't been the same without him, they'd had to settle for only a phone call. It was better than nothing though.

Marah looked out over the frozen river again, watching the bison all stand together. They migrate to just outside of Stillwater in the fall, spending the summer months in the park itself.

Her thoughts drift to the fight she had with her parents last night, once again regarding the near constant texting and phone calls. She hadn't meant to start yelling at them outright, but she hadn't texted all day, Dean hadn't said anything, so she didn't get why they brought it up at the table.

Jackie had given her a knowing look, one she knew was telling her to just tell their mom and dad. But Marah wouldn't do that. What would she even say?

'Hey, mom, dad, I met this guy once and now we talk all the time. No he doesn't live anywhere really, he's five years older than me actually, nope I don't know what he does.' Yeah. That would go over fantastically well.

She thinks that maybe, he's been playing with her this whole time. _He's not going to show up,_ she thinks, _I'm just stupid_. But she can't help checking her phone one last time, glancing down, hoping that by some miracle, Dean'll suddenly reply, say something, _anything_.

But nothing happens, the hunk of metal in her hand stays silent, unmoving. "Son of a bitch." She mumbles, angry at him now, and pushes herself to her feet. Their cold, and she can't feel her toes as she turns and starts back towards home.

She stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets, the fleece lined insides warming them slightly and she clenches her fingers into a fist, clenching and unclenching in order to stimulate the blood flow.

She stays on the shoveled path, keeping her gaze down as the sunlight slowly fades from the sky. There's a tug in her chest, and she feels tears pricking at the back of her eyes, and that makes her angry too. She shouldn't be disappointed. Or upset.

Maybe he just got caught up in something. She doesn't know what, since she doesn't know what he does, but maybe something got in the way. Why would he put aside time just to come see _her_ anyways.

"Marah!" she doesn't hear her name. She keeps trudging along, her jaw set, molars grinding slightly in order to keep back to persistent tears she feels trying to fight their way to the surface. But she doesn't want to cry over him, over the essence of the guy who would listen to her. "Marah!"

She hears him that time, and stops in her tracks, almost at the end of the path. She turns around slowly, and let's out a breath when she sees the tall, broad shouldered blonde.

"You weren't gunna stand me up were ya? No girls' ever done that to me!" he shouts slightly so she can hear him, though starts walking towards her as he talks.

"Maybe it'd do your ego some good." She snaps, and Dean's eyebrows raise, his hands going up as if in surrender.

"Why're you mad?" he asks, only a few feet away now.

"Why didn't you answer my text!" she snaps back, taking a step towards him now. "I waited for _hours_ for you Dean! _Hours!"_ Now that she's yelling, she can't seem to stop. "I sat by that fucking bench for four hours waiting for your sorry ass to show up! You said you'd be there and then you weren't so I waited, and I waited and you never even thought to say you were still coming! Do you know how damn stupid I felt!? No! Why would you!? All-"

"Marah, stop." It's his hands on her shoulders, not his words, that make her stop yelling at him, and when she does, she can feel the tears that are going down her face. Dean pulls her into a hug, wrapping his strong arms around her, and she listens to his heartbeat. His chest rumbles soothingly, and she listens as he hums deeply. She recognizes the song, 'Hey, Jude' and feels herself relaxing as he keeps going.

"You think I wasn't comin' anymore?" she doesn't say anything. "How could you think that?" he asks, still holding her close to him, "My phone got busted a few days ago, haven't been able to get a new one yet."

He smells like beer, leather, and gunpowder. Marah takes a deep breath, calming down slightly and pulling away. "We good now?" Dean asks her, running a hand over her hair.

"Guess so." She tells him, and Dean grins slightly. It grows into a smirk, and Marah smiles up at him. "Your hair's longer."

"So is yours." He shoots back.

"I'm a girl, it's supposed to be long."

"I've never noticed a difference in girls with short hair versus girls with long."

"Difference in wh-" she cuts herself off, knowing his exact answer, "Never mind." Dean just winks at her, his green eyes shining.

"Come on," Dean picks her up swiftly then, and Marah lets out a high-pitched squeal.

"Dean!" he laughs at her, turning around to head towards the bench.

"You're light as a kitten, you know that?" he teases.

"Put me down!"

"Naw, you'll be too slow."

"I'm not slow."

"Compared to what? A snail?"

"Fuck off. Bitch."

"Jerk." He shoots back, not even hesitating with his comeback, as though he's been saying it all his life. Marah doesn't know that he has indeed been doing just that.

"Asshole."

"Cunt."

"Whore."

"Aw damn Marah, that one hurt." Dean smirks down at her, "Retard."

"Douchebag." Marah laughs, a musical sound that makes Dean smile. "Missed ya." She tells him then, as he puts her down on her own two feet.

"Course you did." He replies, and she hits his arm. "Come on, no click flick moments here."

"You just carried me down a path, we've already crossed over into chick flick moment."

"True, but don't you think the insults canceled it out?"

"Possibly." She thinks it over, then comes up with a new question. "You know, I don't know your last name."

"You don't?" He asks, though he knows she doesn't. "I don't know yours either."

"Bradshaw." She tells him easily.

"Winchester."

"250 or 270?" she teases, and he looks down at her, surprised.

"You know rifles?"

"I know lots of things." She gloats, making Dean's eyes narrow at her. "My dad runs a general store in a rural western town and my brother's in the military, Dean." She points out.

"Right."

"But anyways, I prefer the lever-action to the slide-action, makes me feel better about myself." Dean shakes his head in disbelief.

"I like the Taurus." He tells her, and she makes a face. "What?"

"Which model?"

"92." Her twisted frown softens slightly.

"How many rounds?"

"Seventeen." Marah lets out a low whistle.

"Recoil-activated, detachable box."

"That's the one." Dean confirms, feeling the weapon against his skin where he has it in the waistband of his jeans, just in case.

They talk there for the next hour, and once the sun has gone down, walk back towards down, getting seats at one of the more secluded bars just outside of town.

It's muggy inside, the place's aroma a mixture of beer nuts, whiskey, and cigar smoke. The place has been around ever since Marah can remember, though she'd only ventured in twice before that night, both times with Derek by her side. Now she has Dean.

She tells him about her school, making him laugh as she insults her physics teacher, and making him frown when she tells him how some of the kids pick on the underclassmen.

"It's not right." He tells her, shaking his head, "Even the nerdy kids, they shouldn't be terrorized for who they are."

Dean tells her about all the different places he's been, the people he's met in the past four months. They talk, and talk, and talk until finally, they can't put off goodbye any longer.

"I'll call once I get a new phone." He promises.

"You remember my number?"

"Course I do." He smirks. "Don't start ignoring me is all."

"Never dream of it Winchester." She grins up at him, and Dean shakes his head at her, before bringing her in for a hug. She holds on to him tightly, letting out a staggering breath while trying to swallow the lump in her throat, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She's glad he can't feel her heart skip a beat.

* * *

"Come on Davis! Can't you hold your own locker open?" a boy in Marah's grade teases a freshman, slamming the kid's locker shut. Marah stands beside her best friend, Taylor Chapman, who shakes her head.

"He's such a dick." She says sadly, watching the freshman work to unlock his locker again, the older boy still standing right there, ready to slam it again. Marah watches, knowing what he's going to do, and decides she's not going to stand on the sidelines anymore.

 _It's not right_. At some point in the last eight months, Marah's come to value Dean's words. He's one of her best friends. Sure, they've only seen each other twice, the last time being four months ago, but they speak every chance they get.

Their friendship was changing Marah too. She was more confident, talked to more people she wouldn't have before, questioned things more. Her dad was proud she was becoming more independent. Her mother thought she was becoming rebellious.

Marah hands her books wordlessly to Taylor, who gives her a 'what-the-fuck' look, and Marah sets her backpack on the ground. She walks towards where the bully is standing with his posse. "Why don't you go pick on someone else." she says, walking over so she's standing in front of the black haired boy. He's taller than her, though not as tall as Dean, and still looks down on Marah.

"Yeah, I'd rather stick with the nerds." He laughs, the rest of his friends around him joining in. He elbows the kid next to him, "Why don't you stand outta the way Bradshaw? Don't wanna break a nail."

"At least Davis knows how to open a locker Mike, I bet you can't even get a girl to open her legs for you." His jaw drops, hanging comically down as she smiles sweetly at him, before turning and starting to walk away.

"That _bitch_." He's not ready for when she turns around, really, no one is. Marah's fist connects with his jaw so hard, Mike drops to the floor, letting out a shriek as his hands clutch his face.

"Hey! Hey!" kids start shouting, Mike's friends glaring at Marah and bending down to check on their friend.

"Fuck off." Marah spits down at him, turning on her heel. Taylor stares at her, eyes wide, and the freshman looks at her, giving her a soft smile before rushing down the hallway.

"Damn girl." Is all Taylor can say as they start walking away.

"Marah Bradshaw!" Marah stops, flinching as she turns to see a teacher standing in the doorway of one of the classrooms. "Main office. Now."

* * *

"Why did you think it necessary to punch Mr. Gavin?" the vice principal of the school asks Marah twenty minutes later. He's an older man, hair fading to gray, and he wears a tan cowboy hat on top of his head. Marah sits across from him, on the other side of his desk, hands folded in her lap. Her knuckles are red now, and ache just a little bit.

"Would you like the honest answer sir?" She asks, and the old man nods.

"I thought punching him would prove much more efficient in the situation than words would in shutting him up." She's deadly serious, and the vice-principal nods his head slowly, mouth pursed together.

"I see." Is all he says, "And this course of action was provoked by what?"

"He was bullying a freshman sir."

"Stop violence with violence? Ms. Bradshaw, I am acquainted with your mother, so I am sure you've heard the saying 'an eye for an eye'."

"With all due respect. I believe my approach was perfectly viable and appropriate."

* * *

'I got suspended.' It's a simple text she sends to Dean that night, lying on her bed as the rest of her family eats dinner downstairs. She doesn't get dinner tonight, as part of her punishment.

A week suspension from school for fighting wasn't something her parents ever thought they'd have to deal with, with any of their children. Her father had been proud, he hadn't said it aloud, but she could see it in his eyes. Her mother had been horrified, and Marah had gotten an hour long lecture on why violence doesn't solve problems.

' _FOR WHAT?_ ' is Dean's response twenty minutes later. He's working a job in Pennsylvania at the moment, he's told her that much at least.

'fighting.'

' _did they deserve it?_ '

'course they freakin' deserved it, not just going round beating the shit outta random people'

' _okay good_ ' she lets out a snort, rolling her eyes as the next text comes in ' _wanna say what happened.'_

'asshole was bullying a freshman. Called me a bitch too.'

' _well…..'_

'shut up jerk'

'… _bitch'_

"Marah," the door to her room opens, and the phone is flipped shut in less than a second. Her mother walks in, blonde hair falling in waves past her shoulders. "I need your phone." She says, holding out her hand.

"No!" Is Marah's immediate response.

" _Yes_. It's a part of your punishment, you've been on that damned thing too much."

"But Mom-"

"Marah! Give it to me, you'll get it back in three days." Marah opened her mouth to protest, "I won't look through it, it's going in a drawer and no one will touch it." Marah sighed, looking down longingly at her only connection to Dean. Her Mom took a few steps into her room, holding her hand out expectantly.

Reluctantly, Marah got up from her bed, walking over and placing the device in her mom's hand. "Thank you." Her mom said politely. "I hope you realize what you did was wrong."

"Yes," Marah said dejectedly, her mother raised an eyebrow, "ma'am." Marah added on to the end and her mom nodded, satisfied.

"I expect you to write Mike an apology letter by tomorrow afternoon, I'll mail it for you."

"Mom!"

"Marah!" her mouth snapped closed as her mother raised her voice. She hardly ever did so inside the house. "This is not up for discussion. You _will_ write him an apology. Is that clear."

"Yes ma'am." Marah mumbled.

"We'll also bake him something to send with it." With that her mom exited the room, Marah's phone in her hand, and closed the door behind her. Marah plopped down on her bed, arms crossed over her chest.

"I hope your apple pie is freaking worth it." She grumbled to herself, hating Mike Gavin even more so than usual.

* * *

**feel free to review! I love hearing what you all think! Big thanks to all those who favorited and followed!**


	3. Crazy Love

* * *

A bead of sweat rolled down Marah's forehead as she wiped down tables inside the café. Even with the fans going, it was still stifling in the small establishment. Outside, it was even worse, the temperature pushing a hundred degrees. A piece of her dark hair clung to the back of her sweaty neck, and the now nineteen-year-old girl paused to fix her hair, pulling it up into a messy bun atop her head.

A recent graduate of Stillwater High School, Marah had only been suspended three times in her four years there, all of them for fighting. Given, she held good reasons for all of them; the school just wouldn't accept her use of her fist to get bullies to shut the hell up.

Her sister, Jackie, on the other hand, had just finished up her first year at Montana State, and was home for the summer already. As a change to past years, Derek was home as well, being on a month's leave in order to visit. In result to having the eldest of their children home, Marah's mother's attention was drawn away from her youngest's constant use of her cell phone. A topic that had been battled about numerous times in the past two years.

No, they still weren't aware of Marah's connection with Dean Winchester, but it was still just as strong. He was her best friend, even though it had been over a year and a half since she last saw him. He didn't tell her everything, but she knew the major events in his life, more so than anyone else.

She was the one he called, close to tears, that night that Sammy left for Stanford. She was the one he called after he'd had a 'rough job'. She was the one he called when he had no one left to turn to. Because she listened, sure, she knew she didn't understand everything, but she'd be damned if she didn't listen to Dean.

It had been two weeks since she last heard from him. Eight months ago, this would have worried her, but now, she was used to long gaps of silence from him.

Marah picked up her rag again, moving to the next table and began wiping it down. Things had been busy that morning at the café, and more people were expected to come as an escape from the heat for the lunch rush.

Evelyn, who was home and re-employed after her first year at Arizona State, sat in front of one of the bigger fans.

"You're hogging the fan." Marah told her, mock glaring at the older girl who she had grown closer to over the past two years. Evelyn just laughed at her, waving her hand aimlessly.

"One of the perks of getting a college education." She joked.

"Come on, I don't need to go to college, I'll get a job on my own just fine and then be without all those damned taxes and loans." Marah's parents hadn't been too happy with their daughter's decision to end her education on her high school diploma. But, as she pointed out, it was her life, and she'd deal with any consequences that came her way. Besides, as her dad told her, there was always work to be done in the store.

"Shut up." Evelyn was laughing though, and didn't really mean it. "Oh, while you're up, you wanna go fix those newspapers? Kid who dropped them off just threw'em down."

"You really think people will care if our newspaper stack isn't straight?" Marah asked, though she was already on her way over to them.

"No, but Angela will." Evelyn pointed out. "It is her day to come in."

"I know that." Marah rolled her eyes.

The bell sounded above the door, and she looked up, smiling as a couple walked inside. "Good afternoon, Evelyn will be right with you, any seat is fine." They smiled and nodded their thanks. She knew them, everyone knew everybody in Stillwater, but it was just too hot out for unnecessary words. Of all people, she knew the Gardnier's would understand.

Marah stood up, making her way back towards the kitchen, hearing Evelyn ask for their order.

Once again, her mind drifted to Dean. She thought of the picture he sent her almost a year ago. It was of himself, along with his brother Sam. In the picture, Dean was sitting at a table in someone's kitchen, a beer bottle in his hand. He's grinning, almost smiling, holding the bottle up slightly as though he's waving. Across from him, a taller kid occupied the seat. His hair was long, darker than Dean's, and his eyes weren't the same green. His features weren't as defined, and he defiantly looked like a Sammy to Marah.

On the back, Dean had written her a note in his sloppy handwriting.

' _Marah, this is my geek brother Sam. That charming devil across from him is obviously me. Hope I got the address right, that'd be awkward if I didn't. See ya soon kitten._

_Dean.'_

But it hadn't been true, and thirteen months later, she still hadn't seen him. He had sent her more pictures though, in the months after. Each one addressed to her under a different name, never using his own. She noticed the pattern though after the first few, always names of members of a classic rock group.

James Hetfield. John Bonham. Robert Plant. David Roth.

They made her laugh, and he was very happy that she picked up on the names. When she asked why he never sent it using his own name, he just said he knew she'd like the whole alias thing.

Dean didn't mail her things often, just once in a few months, and she felt like it was his way of making up to her the fact they hadn't seen each other in such a long time. Marah was always disappointed she couldn't mail anything back, since he didn't have an address.

Rowdy voices brought her attention to the front of the café, and a smile spread across her face as she watched the boys practically tripping over themselves as they made their way inside.

"Where's my girl?" A deep voice asked, and Marah rolled her eyes as Tyrell made his way over. "Found ya." He smirked at her, his blue eyes shining before he leaned and pressed his lips to hers. Her hands found their way up atop his shoulders, as his settled on her hips.

The black haired boy pulled back a moment later, a shit-eating grin on his face. "You have to sit down if you wanna be served." Marah teased, and Tyrell rolled his eyes, glancing back to see the group he came in with was already taking up a corner booth.

"Come on Mar, you know Vince is a dick to have to sit next to. We could just go." His eyebrows raised, and she smacked his chest.

"I'm working, now go, sit." She pushed him, and he made a face before turning and taking a few steps towards the booth. She followed, going to take their order. He turned around stealing one more kiss from her anyways before sitting down as Marah glared at him.

"She's gunna break up with ya some day Ty." One of the other boys joked.

"Naw, she loves me, Cole." Tyrell waved him off.

"Who lied to you? Marah asks, Tyrell's mouth dropping open as his friends all laugh.

"Yes, Marah!" She leans over, high fiving Cole before smirking at her boyfriend. He frowns at her, and she kisses his cheek quickly.

"Water, water, coke, root beer, sprite, lemonade.." She points to each boy as she recites their usual drink order.

"Yup." They all agree, and Marah turns away, making her way back towards the kitchen to get the drinks.

* * *

She couldn't tear her gaze away from the motel parking lot. Marah was sure she was wrong, just seeing what her heart wanted to see.

But it's hard to mistake a 67' Impala for anything else. Especially when she had a picture, of what she hoped was that exact car, in her room hidden away in a drawer along with the rest of the pictures Dean had sent her. Marah could feel her heartbeat going faster and faster, and she glanced both ways before jogging across the street.

It had been three weeks since she last spoke with Dean, but she knew his dad had given him the Impala almost six months ago. He had been over the moon about it. His exact words were: 'she's better than sex'.

Brandy paused in front of the motel room door that the car was parked in front of. She ran a hand through her hair, nerves washing over her suddenly. But she raised her fist, knocking on the door before she could think anything more of it.

"I said no maids!" came the gruff, somewhat muffled, reply from inside.

"Dean?" she called out, loud enough for him to hear. She heard scrambling, and then a crash that made her burst out laughing. Seconds later, the door was flung open.

Neither of them moved. She looked him over, while he looked her over. He was taller, more muscular than before, and his features were more defined. She hadn't thought it was possible, but he looked even better than he did before.

Her lips turned down into a frown when she saw the scars on his arms, and one on his face. "Hey." His voice brought her attention back to now, and she starred at him openly for a moment. His lips pulled up into a smirk, an eyebrow rising at her.

Maybe it was how much he'd grown, or how handsome he looked, or how happy she was to see him. But really, she knew it was how damn _lonely_ he looked. She could see it in his eyes, how they were different from the last time she saw him. Anyone could notice it, but she could put a name to it, perhaps she was the only person who could.

He wasn't prepared when she took two steps towards him, her hand resting on the side of his neck as she brought her lips up to his, having to go on her tip toes in order to reach him. He was stone still, not moving at all, but even then, it was the best kiss she'd had.

Marah put her feet back flatly on the floor, eyes downcast as she bit her bottom lip slightly. A nervous habit. It took a moment for her to look up at him again, Dean hadn't said anything.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." She admitted to him, wishing he'd say something. "And if, ya know, I'm sorry." She put a hand over her face, shaking her head.

"Marah." She looked back at him, and he pushed her hand down before she could say anything else, his lips were on hers again a moment later. It was different, world-shattering now that he was kissing her. She was glad his arms were there to catch her as her knees went weak.

Dean held her upright, holding her arms, and pulled away slowly. "It's fine." He let one hand trail down her bare arm, taking her hand in his before closing the door. She intertwined her fingers together, and he let her, squeezing tightly.

"You didn't call." She whispered, because for some reason, she didn't want to say anything too loudly. Like she would scare this side of Dean away, and she'd be left with nothing but the tough bravado that he put up for the world to see him as.

"I know." When she looked up into his eyes, she saw the pain again, the loneliness, and her heart ached for him. "I've been thinking, about _this_." He emphasized his words, squeezing her hand, and she felt her heart sink in her chest. Marah's hand went limp in his and Dean let go, watching as she took two steps back, shaking her head.

" _No_." she sounded like she was scolding him for the thoughts he hadn't shared yet.

"I came to say goodbye Marah." Tears made their way down her face, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand.

" _No!_ " she was more forceful this time. "Don't you dare say goodbye Dean." Her gaze hardened, and she struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat.

"This isn't going to work. Not with my job."

"And what Dean!? Friendship!?" She cut him off, her voice rising so she was almost yelling, "You won't even tell me what your fucking job is! I've gone two _years_ not knowing! And I've never asked!"

"You don't wanna know." His voice was lower now, deadly serious.

"I'm pretty sure I do." She snapped back at him, looking up at his face. "Damn sure I do."

"You wouldn't believe me." Dean struggled to keep his temper in check, keeping his voice slow and at a low volume. She didn't like it, she wanted him mad, wanted him angry like she was.

"Try me, Winchester." Marah crossed her arms over her chest.

"No, okay, just no." Dean's jaw set, and she could see the muscle tense up before he let a breath out through his nose, nostrils flaring. "You're gunna go off to some American college, and get a degree, and live some apple pie life and forget all about me."

"I'm not going to college." She thought she'd told him that. "And I'm sure as hell never going to forget about you."

"What?"

"I don't fit in here! Can't you see that? Anyone can see that much Dean. Look around, all the girls wearing their dresses all the time, inheriting the family business, staying in this little town for the rest of their lives. No, the people here are wrong and I've never fit in, not really. I don't want to stay here. I don't want to settle down, have a job, raise a family. Do you know how damn _boring_ that sounds."

"I think that sounds freakin' awesome."

"Well I don't." she walked over to the couch, sinking down onto it and running her hands over her face before looking back to him. "I read your texts, your letters. All how you travel the country, the people you meet. That's what I want to do. Not be held by some required work hours, some big shot executive tellin' me how to live my life, I-"

"I hunt freakin' monsters!" Dean shouts out finally, cutting her off.

"What?" she demanded, her eyebrows jumping as she spoke.

"I hunt monsters." He repeats, slower this time. "Those stories you hear, of things that go bump in the night? They're real, all of them, and I hunt them down. Ghosts, werewolves, vampires, wendigos, changlings, skinwalkers, ghouls. All of it, all of it's real, and I hunt the sons of bitches and gank'em." He gets more amped as he goes, his voice rising. At the end, he lets out a breath, glaring at her, waiting for Marah to respond.

"Okay."

"Okay?!" he asks incredulously, "I just told you all things supernatural are real and you're gunna say okay? No your insane, your lying, or your crazy!? No freak out?!"

"Nope." She crosses one leg over the other. "I'm glad that's settled now."

Marah stood up, walked over to Dean and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. His arms came around her, one resting on the back of her head, and he kissed her hair quickly as his heart continued to pound in his chest, the adrenaline from yelling still coursing through his veins. She smiled softly, looking up and moment later and standing up on her toes to kiss his lips.

She couldn't think of anything else but Dean as he reciprocated, pressing his lips to hers harder than before. Her body pressed up against his, until there wasn't any space left between the two of them. A sound came from deep in Dean's throat, sounding almost like a growl, making her smile, and Dean smirk, biting her bottom lips softly between his teeth.

It escalated slowly from there. Her hands moving to the front of his chest, undoing the buttons of his flannel shirt and pushing it to the floor, leaving him only in a wife beater. Dean's hands moving until they were both on the sides of her face, his thumbs stroking along her jawline. His shirt hitting the floor, and Marah standing back to look him over.

The expanse of muscled tan skin before her was littered with scars. Dean stood still in front of her, his eyes watching the emotions that flashed through her eyes. Curiosity, concern, sadness. Her fingers were cold against his skin as she trailed them lightly over his scars, barely touching him as though he would break underneath her touch. Claw marks down his side, still deeply cut into his skin.

When she began to pull her own shirt off, Dean opened his mouth. "You don't-"

"Shh." She cut him off, giving him a ghost of a smile before removing her shirt, left only in a sports bra, she didn't have to point out the flaws in her own skin.

Four long streaks tore across her stomach, the remains of two puncture wounds in her side. Dean's eyes widened, his own hand coming up to feel them. "I got attacked by a dog when I was little." She tells him. And then presses her lips to one of his, making Dean shiver and grip her shoulders with his hands.

Their lips find each other again, and Dean backs her up until she's sitting on his bed, and then lays her back, climbing up over her, supporting himself on an elbow. He takes it slowly, letting her set the pace at which they go, constantly asking if she's okay, if she wants to stop. To just tell him if she does.

She's surprised at how gentle he is. He laughs when she tells him this, and his hips grind down onto hers. "Wanna change that?" he smirks down at her.

"No." it's the last coherent word he'll get out of her for the time being.

Dean takes his time, their time, and is slow. Working to memorize each new area of skin he touches, he sees, he kisses. She's like a game of Operation, though now, he wants the buzzer to go off. He wants to make her scream.

He helps her slide his jeans off, surprised when she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him down so all his weight is on top of her. But he's not close enough, chest to chest, he pushes himself up in a shift motion, bringing her with him and pulling her bra off from over her head.

His mouth is there instantly, her head falling back as she moans his name. His fingers dig harder into her skin, and her nails grate down his back, leaving long red marks and urging him on. One hand finds it's way into his short hair, and she tugs his face up, kissing his lips once more as his hands work to rid her of her own pants.

She kicks them to the floor, her underwear following soon after, and she hisses when Dean's hand travels between her thighs.

"You like this?" he asks innocently, moving his hand away when she can't reply. He laughs when her hand shoots down to grab his, stopping him from moving further away. "You gotta tell me." He smirks as she glares.

"Asshole." She breaths out, rocking her hips upwards, bucking against him and Dean hisses.

"I wouldn't do that if you wanna go all the way kitten." He warns her, though now she's the one smirking, digging her nails into his shoulders and bucking against him again.

They work quickly after that, Dean's boxers finding their way to the floor, joining the rest of their clothes. She stares, down at him for a moment, and Dean's shit eating grin is what meets her eyes when she looks back to his face. He's only gone for a moment to get a condom.

He goes in slow for her, his jaw clenched as she kisses his neck. She bites down when he first enters her, pain shooting through her as her body works to adjust to fit him. "You're so," Dean can't finish, panting as he slowly goes deeper. Her face contorts in pain, and Dean balances himself on one arm so he can stroke her face with the other, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her cheek. He can tell instantly when the pain turns to pleasure, and he pulls out slightly, thrusting back in.

Skin slaps against skin as sweat covers both of their bodies. They find a rhyme quickly, and she finds her voice. "Faster." She pants at him, and Dean reaches another level, never being the one who's being told what to do. "Come on Dean, faster."

"You try to keep up." He breaths, thrusting harder, feeling himself nearing the edge.

She's beautiful when she comes, shouting his name out. It's the sound of his own name that makes Dean go over too, his whole body weight resting down on her. Marah runs a hand through his hair, the usual spikes clinging to his sweaty forehead.

She gazes into his emerald green eyes, closing her eyes as she kisses him softly, loving every moment. Loving him.

And she knows it's true. She does love him. But she can't tell him, not yet, maybe not ever. He may not love her, but she'll take what she can get.

"Take me with you." She whispers an hour later, still lying in Dean's arms, her body naked and his arms wrapped around her. Their faces inches apart.

"Hmm?" his eyes open.

"When you go," she clarifies, "Take me with you." Dean leans forward kissing her quickly.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's too dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt. Or killed." His rough, calloused hand comes up to sweep the hair out of her face.

"But-" he cuts her off with a kiss again, finding it much more effective than words.

"I'll come back, visit you more. I promise, long as you wait for me."

"I'll worry about you." And he sees the fear in her eyes. The fear for him that she has, now that she knows.

"No need to. I'm like Batman." She rolls her eyes at him, noticing how he's just like a kid still. She kicks his foot with her own underneath the sheets. "I'll be fine."

"I'll wait for you. And you better call, and you better never say goodbye."

"Babe, after this, I ain't planning on ever saying goodbye." Dean smirks at her, winking quickly.

"That's the only thing that changed your mind?" she teases.

"No," Dean stops joking, "Course not." He looks down when she lifts his right hand up, looking at the ring on his finger. "That was my mom's."

"How'd she die?" Marah asks, and Dean looks at her surprised, having never told her. "I figured it out." She explains, seeing his face.

"Oh." His face falls, "She was, uh, killed by a demon. When Sam was six months old. Pinned to the ceiling, Dad says she was bleeding all over, her body contorted. I just remember the fire, racing out with Sam in my arms. That's what started Dad onto hunting. Still trying to find Yellow Eyes."

"Yellow Eyes?" she asks.

"The demon, he's different, has yellow eyes instead of black." She nods as though he just told her the weather was calling for rain now. She can see the pain in his eyes as he talks about it, and lifts a hand slowly, running her fingers through his hair as his eyes stay locked on hers.

"Take a sad song, and make it better." She sings it softly, remembering him humming it to her all those months ago. Dean's eyes close, and she leans forward to kiss his forehead. "Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start. To make it better." She hums the rest, not quite remembering all the words. Her eyes drift close, and she smiles when Dean's grip tightens around her.

"I want you to keep it." Her eyes slide open then, and Dean's holding the ring out to her. "I always worry about losing it, so you can keep it safe for me."

"You'll have to come back to get it." She points out, and he grins.

"Guess so." He watches her slide the ring onto her right hand, and he smiles when it fits. "You know what'd be fun?" mischief gleams in his eyes, and all she can do is laugh. "Round two." In the next moment, he's back on top of her.

* * *

Dean's the first one to wake up at the sound of pounding on the motel door. As he swings his legs out from the bed, Marah catches his hand, he looks down at her naked form, giving her a soft smile, nodding his head towards the door. She sits up, letting go of his hand and Dean tosses her his discarded shirt from the floor, pulling his jeans on.

"Open the fuckin' door!" Marah's eyes widen as the voice penetrates through the wooden door.

"Alright! Calm down, man!" Dean calls back, running a hand through is hair. He opens the door, only to quickly close it more, leaning against the doorframe so their guest can't see inside.

The man outside is tall, taller than Dean is, and his dark hair buzzed into what Dean recognizes as Air Force regulations. His sideburns are well kept, tapering off, his hair buzzed so it fades out, and is kept in a crew cut, the top flat. His skin is tan, and he stand with his arms crossed over his broad chest. An Air Force jacket hugging his body.

"What's up?" Dean asks, his eyebrows rose as the man's eyes narrow, taking in Dean's lack of dress. He thinks Dean must be military as well, given his hair is cut short, and would meet Army standards if it were well kept at the moment.

"I'm looking for someone, got word she was seen round here this morning." Dean's jaw clenches, and he instantly knows the man is looking for the girl who is currently in his bed. With his shirt on. Without pants. Who he just slept with. Twice.

Behind him, Marah slips out of the bed silently, finishing buttoning up Dean's shirt as she grabs her jeans from the floor.

"Sorry dude, I've been in here all day." Dean shrugs his shoulders. Derek fishes through his pocket, taking out a photo, and holding it out for Dean to see.

It is Marah, a few years younger, sitting in the back of a truck, Derek's arm slung around her shoulders as they smile for whoever was taking the picture. A German Shepard sits on the ground below them. "This is her, she's a few years older now though." Derek explains as Dean studies the picture. "Sure you haven't seen her?"

"Look, I'm not from around here. I haven't seen'er. If I do, I'll be sure to pass the message along that your lookin' for'er. But I'm sure she's fine, dude, where ever she is."

Derek nods his head, slipping the photo back into his pocket. "Thanks," he sounds like he doesn't really mean it, and turns away, making his way back to the 1993 Ford F-150 that sits idling in the parking lot. Dean lets out a breath, closing the door and turning around.

Marah stands by the bed, her jeans back on now, and Dean's dark brown plaid shirt makes her look smaller than she already is. He smirks, and then picks up his amulet off of the table by the door, putting it back on around his neck. "Maybe you should get home." He tells her, though he wants her to stay.

"No," Dean raises an eyebrow as she walks towards him, warping her arms around his neck and placing her head on his bare chest, listening to the consistent beating of his heart. It makes her smile. "I wanna stay with you, they need to not worry so much."

* * *

"Park there." Marah points to a spot close to the edge of the cliff she's given Dean directions too. It's a pull over spot for tourists, but this late at night it's deserted.

When Dean told her he'd be in town for two days, she'd been over the moon. Not wanting to leave his side for a moment, she had practically dragged him out to the Impala saying there was something he 'just _had_ to see', even if it was ten o'clock at night.

So now they were here, and as soon as the ignition is shut off, Marah hops out, walking over to the front of the classic car and looking to Dean. "Can I sit on the hood?" she asks, knowing full well she shouldn't just go ahead and plop her ass down. Dean shakes his head, grinning, and kisses her quickly.

"Course." Marah gets up on the hood, arms around her knees, as Dean sits beside her, looking out over the dark valley. The full moon illuminates a lot of it, and he can see the reflection in the river below, a forest starting miles away. "What's here?" he asks, looking over at her, the moonlight making it so he could see her face still.

"Look there." She says as a reply, pointing out, down in the valley, with her left hand. Dean squints, still not seeing anything. She notices his perplexed expression, and laughes softly. "Don't look so hard."

That's when his eyes make out the dark shapes huddled together. "What is that?"

"Bison." She answers as though it's obvious. The more Dean looks, the more he sees the dark shapes. "Hundreds of them."

"Woah." Dean stares out at them, transfixed.

"Be quiet for a minute, I wanna show you why I dragged ya here." She doesn't wait for a reply, cupping her hands around her mouth and letting out howl. Dean stifles a laugh, and she elbows him in the ribs, letting out another long howl before falling silent. "Wait." She whispers, the excitement clear in her voice. Dean thinks it's stupid, just a childish thing, until there is a response.

The sound sends chills through his whole body, and goose bumps appear all over Dean's arms. The wolves in the distance keep howling, singing together in response to Marah's call. It is a high-pitched, eerie noise, and Dean has never heard anything like it before. He keeps starring off in the direction they come from, and Marah rests her head on his shoulder.

"That's the Rose Creek Pack." She tells Dean, "The alpha, she was born a few months before I met you. There's nine of them now, none of the original pack members are still alive, which is a shame really, and two of them – 190 and 192 – they left the pack last summer, though I still see them around sometimes."

"How do you know all this?" Dean asks as the howls die down.

"I love them, grew up with them practically. My Dad would take me out here all the time, and we'd just sit and watch." Dean hums, just to show he's listening. "Up north, there's the Mill Creek pack, they don't really have a set territory yet, there's seven of them this year. Four years ago, I think it was four, they were moving right through town."

They sit in silence for a long time, Dean shifting her after a few minutes later so she sits in his lap, his arms wrapped around her to keep her warm as the temperature continues to drop. She tilts her head back, resting it on his chest while Dean rests his chin atop her head.

Marah doesn't want him to leave, doesn't know how she'll deal with him being gone, now more so than ever. She can't stop him, make him drop everything for her, she doesn't want him to do that. But for now, she can just hang on, take what she can get and deal with what will come when it gets there.

In his head, Dean toys with the idea of taking her with him. Having her there for hunts, on the road with him. He knows it won't ever happen though, not with his dad, not with Sam in college. He doesn't want her in that kind of danger either, he'd want her to wait in the motel rooms, the cheap, crappy motel rooms they stay in. He can't make her do that. He just can't, no matter how selfish he wants to be. Dean doesn't know what to really do. He's always been the love'em and leave'em type of guy.

She knows that too. He knows she does, and he doesn't know what she expects from him now. He doesn't want to ask. But here he is, hours after sex, still with the same chick. Dean grins, thinking smugly how Sam would never believe him if he told his kid brother.

"You treat sex like a drive-through item." His brother had told him in disgust once. Dean had shrugged, not seeing the big deal.

His gaze drifts from the dark valley before his eyes, to the girl in his arms. "You regret it?" he asks before he thinks, and she starts slightly, surprised by his rough voice being right beside her ear.

"Regret what?" she asks curiously, and Dean's eyebrows furrow together until she smirks up at him. "There's nothing about today I would have regret over Dean." A corner of Dean's mouth lifts up, and he presses a kiss right below her ear, making her shiver.

"Good." He says, a deep part of him unable to believe she makes him act so- he doesn't know the word. Mushy?

No, he doesn't think that's it. He'll never be mushy, never send flowers or give jewelry as some gift or any of that crap. Unguarded is what he decides on. How his walls come down instantly when he's with her.

Others – his dad, Sam, Bobby, Pastor Jim – it takes them hours to get his walls to come down even a little bit, if at all. But with Marah, there's an innocence there, in how much she trusts and accepts Dean for who he is, that he just can't help but be himself with her. Not just the tough, egotistical jerk that everyone sees, but a caring jerk.

* * *

"Where. Have. You. Been." Each word out of Leroy Bradshaw's mouth is articulated perfectly, laced in a deadly tone that makes Marah stop in her tracks before she's even finished easing the front door of their home shut all the way, trying not to make any noise. The sound of the lamp being switched on seems a thousand times louder than usual, and she turns to see him sitting in his favorite leather armchair, arms crossed over his chest. In the silence, the sound of the Impala's engine driving away seems too loud, as does the grandfather clock in the corner, as it ticks away the tension-filled seconds.

The older man takes in his daughter's shocked expression, and then her outfit, his eyes narrowing at the plaid shirt that he has never seen before, sticking out from under a large sweatshirt he has also never seen before. Her dark hair is pulled up in a bun on top of her head, and her arms hang limply by her sides.

"You have any idea how long we've been out looking for you? Derek was out for hours, young lady, damn it he even checked the motel!" Marah shrinks back as her father raises his voice. Something he almost never does.

I know he did, she thinks to herself, I was there. She stuffs her right hand into the front pocket of Dean's sweatshirt, not wanting her father to see the ring there.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he asks, his voice lowering again, and Marah nods.

"Four A.M." Marah tells him, her voice coming out surprisingly steady, sounding a lot more confident than she feels. Because she's terrified.

"Your mother is worried sick about you. Derek is worried sick about you!"

"I'm sure he won't have an aneurism over it." It's out of her mouth before she can think, the snarky little comment, complete with an eye roll.

The Bradshaws never truly supported the practice of corporal punishment, let alone used it in their own home. Sure, they would admit to the tradition of washing a child's mouth out with soap if one of their kid's spoke out of turn, or said a curse, but never to beating their children. Spanking had a different definition than beating, Abigail would attest to that belief, and even told the story of her spanking Derek when he was fifteen at family holiday parties.

So when her father crossed the room, and smacked Marah across the face, the force sending her into the side of the stairwell, she wasn't expecting it in the slightest. Her eyes widens as her left hand cradles the throbbing side of her face, eyes watering from the sting.

"You don't speak to me like that, or ever make jokes about how you made your family members feel, do you understand me?" Marah's dad's voice is slightly shocked as well, though it barely shows. "Marah Bradshaw, do you understand?" he repeats, his words more calculated.

"Yes sir." Her voice hitches, and she looks up, the wood squeaking above her. Her mother stands at the top of the stairs, mouth set in thin line, her bathrobe on.

"Leroy," her voice is quiet and soft, as she makes her way down the stairs and hugs her youngest child. Still keeping her eyes on her husband over Marah's shoulder, "I think we need to have a conversation in the kitchen." Abigail pulls away, her hands coming up to the sides of Marah's face, thumbs running over her cheeks. "You go to your room." Her voice is soft, yet stern, and Marah nods, backing away and making her way slowly up the stairs and into her bedroom.

She should have known her brother would have heard the commotion downstairs. Or maybe he was simply staying up to see when she'd come home. No matter the reason, he lets himself into her room just seconds after she closes the door behind her.

"Mar-"

"Please don't yell at me." She cuts him off, the stinging from her father's hand still there on her cheek.

"I wasn't going to." He tells her, and she turns to look at him. Derek looks down at her, lips pursed together and eyebrows drawn and up in his 'why the hell would I do that' face. "What's his name?" that question catches her off-guard, and she opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water.

" _What?_ " she finally gets out, and he takes a few steps towards her, his hand grasping onto Dean's sweatshirt.

"This was on the back of the chair in the room. I do notice things." Marah clences her jaw, turning away from her brother.

"I don't know what you're talking about Derek."

"Oh, come on Marah! The motel, the guy, bout my age, yey high." He holds his hand slightly below the top of his own head. "Blonde hair, green eyes, kind of a jerk."

"He's not a jerk!" her mouth snaps closed as the gap between Derek's hairline and eyebrows decreases.

"Tell me his name."

"No." Marah quips back.

"Fine," he sighs, "How about this. You tell me his name, or I tell mom and dad that you spent the day in a sleazy motel room with a guy who answered the door shirtless."

"You're a dick." Marah spits out at him, and Derek smiles.

"I can just, join that conversation in the kitchen…" he trails off, inching closer to the door.

"Derek." She warns, and he shrugs, walking backwards still.

"I mean, I'm sure they'd-"

"Dean." She breaths out, "His name's Dean, okay? Ya happy?"

"I'm exuberant." He stops walking, pulling out the chair from her desk and straddling it. "You just, run into Dean?"

" _No_ , I'm not a slut Derek."

"But you do have a boyfriend." He points out, and Marah's stomach drops. She hadn't even. Didn't even think. "Which you didn't remember." Derek fills in, seeing her expression. "Good going sis, I'm going with you slept with him too."

"I-"

"You better not tell me I'm wrong." Derek cuts her off, "Because I know I'm right. You know how I know I'm right?" he asks rhetorically, "Sex has a very distinct smell."

"Derek-"

"I just hope you two were safe, because really, what's that dude? Twenty? And I swear to God if he hurt you he's dead. He should be dead either way."

"He's twenty four." Marah cuts him off. "And I'm fine, and you're going to keep your mouth shut."

"Of course I am." His answer surprises her.

"Why?"

"Because you're my sister, and you're nineteen. And you make your own choices. It's my job to warn you, and to inform you at how creepy this is and how much I'm enjoying making you uncomfortable."

"I'm glad this is fun for you."

"Thanks, much appreciated. Anyways, just, don't screw up, or get yourself hurt. I still care about ya kid." Marah sits on her bed now, starring at her older brother as he gets up. "As long as you don't end up getting pregnant anytime soon, or get some weird disease."

"Aren't military men supposed to be like, mature and strict?" Marah teases him, and Derek shrugs.

"I'm a rebel, sue me."

* * *


End file.
